Getting to sleep was another matter. She was still awake when four of the weavers came in together, spoke quietly amongst themselves for a few minutes, then all drifted off to sleep without the least difficulty. She was still awake when the noisy rumbles from her belly joined the soft sounds of the others’ sleeping. She was still awake when the door opened again sometime after matins, and a huge shape stood there, silhouetted against the light behind it.
She knew who it was. She had even somehow suspected he would come, even while she had imagined him relieving himself with Celia. Unless—did he think his Celia was here? Was it his favorite he had come for, and not her?
But ’twas Rowena he faced when he said, “Come.”
She did not doubt now that he spoke to her, even though his face was no more than a black shadow. None of the other women stirred, but Rowena did not move either, except to shake her head.
He put out his hand and repeated that single word, and she was assailed with memories of his hands on her, of the incredible pleasure his body had recently forced on hers—and she shook her head again, violently. She didnotwant that pleasure again, not from him.
He had more words to say to her denial, quietly, for only her ears. “You are having the same difficulty as I, or you would not be still awake. I for one do not mean to suffer it any longer. Come now, or I will carry you from here.”
She dreaded the scene that that would cause, which was guaranteed to wake the others, but still she did not move, so he added, “Your screams will not matter. Have you not realized that yet?”
She had a little more dignity than that. But since shewaslikely to scream if he touched her, she got up and followed him out of the room—but no further than the empty corridor. He walked on, fully expecting her to follow him. When he finally realized she was not behind him, he came back, though he was not angry—at least not yet. His brow was merely lifted in question.
“Do you require assistance?”
His nonchalance was infuriating. “I am not going with you,” she told him baldly, stiffly. “You had your revenge on me in that way. To force me again would not be like for like.”
“Did I say you wouldonlyhave like for like, wench? After today you should know better. However I choose to exact retribution from you, so it will be done.” And then he shrugged, just before that humorless smile came to his lips. “But this has naught to do with that. Merely has it occurred to me that you truly are no more than a serf now, and so bound to Fulkhurst as any other serf. This means you can do naught with out my permission, and like any other serf, you owe me my due. This also means that, as with any otherfemaleserf, if I decide to toss your skirts and avail myself of what lies between your legs at any time, in any place, that is my privilege. So if I tell you to get yourself to my bed, you will make haste to do so. Is this clear to you?”
“Aye, but—”
“Aye, what?”
“My lord,” she snapped.
“You are a slow learner. But then, little better can be expected of one so stupid as you.”
“I amnotstupid—my lord.”
“Are you not? You do not think it was stupid of you to try and steal a child from me?”
“Not stupid,” she confessed, “just very wrong—but I had no choice.”
“No one held a knife at your throat,” he said harshly.
She had been warned not to offer excuses. He was now angry, and not like to listen to them even if she dared try to make him understand. But she could not let pass what he had kept her from saying after his damning recital of her present position, even if it made him angrier.
“You know as well as I that I am no serf,LordWarrick. If I were, I would no doubt agree with all you have said, and might even feel differently about a—a summons from you in the middle of the night. But calling me serf does not make it so, does not change feelings, does not let me accept what you term ‘privilege.’”
“You are fond of telling me you had no choice. Think you that you have a choice in this?”
“Then you will have to chain me again,” she assured him, “for I will never come willing to your bed.”
He laughed cruelly at her confidence. “Those chains were for your benefit, wench, not mine. I would prefer it do you fight me, for I do not want your willingness. Nay, I want your hate, and your shame when you finally succumb. Mayhap I will even make you beg this time—for what you do not want.”
She paled at those words, though he did not see it in the dim light. But she could remember clearly the last time in his bed, when he had played with her and made her so wild, she had thought she would beg him to take her if she were not gagged. And that would be more humiliating than all the rest combined. But she had been chained then and unable to prevent all of those intimate caresses. Unchained, she would fight, so he would be unable to bring her to that pitch of need again—nay, he could not make her beg him. Never.
Armed with that conviction, she was about to make the foolish mistake of telling him it was impossible, which was the surest way to make him prove otherwise, when her belly broke the silence first with a loud rumble. Eventhatembarrassed her, particularly when his eyes dropped to stare at the offending noisemaker.
“When did you last eat?” he demanded.
“This morn.”
“Why? You had ample time—”
“Not before your bath, I did not, and after, I—I just wanted to hide and lick my wounds.”
